


Hands & Hearts

by TransgirlCowboy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cowboys & Cowgirls, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, POV Character of Color, Psychological Drama, Romance, Trans Male Character, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23063620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TransgirlCowboy/pseuds/TransgirlCowboy
Summary: Black and brown cowboys Star and Ringo have persisted in carving out a life for themselves in Arizona, despite the world's best efforts to stop them. So in they're fateful encounter at crucial times in their lives is what saves them. But to openly love another man only causes problems for the two, this strikes discord in their love. The two taking seperate paths, both hope to someday reunite once again.Maybe it's everyone's job to save eachother.





	Hands & Hearts

August 8th, 1876

Star woke up the next morning reaching for his love on reflex, only to be greeted by His absence. Rather than instinctively giving into the panic, Star sighed. No frantic search ensured, he accepted that he couldn’t tether down someone with such vibrance and spirit. Still, Star’s heart ached all the same. Going towards the window, Star stared off into the desert before him. The hitching post outside the cabin was barren, marks were left on the wood from His reins. Before Ringo, Star considered Arizona a lifeless place: A dreary bowl of Sand and Thirst where last resorts called home. Now? Now it seemed the sunrays danced across the hills and the flowers held a brighter hue. Thanks to Him, the High plains had become a place of Sand and Dreams, leaving Star thirsting all the same. The morning sun pooled light into the cabin, the dust in the air only now filling the space of His absence. Evading the full weight of his emotions, Star saw a letter, illuminated on the nightstand. Unfolding it, the heavy creases and wrinkles betrayed the tone of the contents inside: A note of the purest heart and tenderness.

“Apologies for the lack of goodbyes, My Cayuse. There are some rather unpleasant accounts I must settle, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire on behalf of me. Make no mistake, I don’t mean to treat you like some escort* (though I most certainly enjoyed the ride), but I know you wouldn’t just let me leave with no fuss. Trust me, it’s easier this way. 

Most people never gave a damn about me, not even my own folks. It’s only been a short while we’ve known each other but I think no one else fonder. When I look up at the night sky and see them stars twinkling and dancing, I’ll think of you. 

Even if I never see you again, I’ll always remember our time together. Always remember my love for you, My Shining Star.

Happy Trails,  
Ringo.”

/ / / / / / / / / /

June 13th, 1874

There isn’t much in the Arizona High Plains, not unless you have an affinity for dry grass and cacti.

There were people there of course, but they were about as prickly and unwelcoming as the cacti. 

Still, there was the necessary venture into the nearest town, Memento, which sat just north of the San Pedro River. It was a large enough frontier town, big enough that you can avoid those you ain’t fond of if you need to. Even so, Star never went much elsewhere besides the general store. 

At least there, Star would get dagger stares as souvenirs instead of nooses.   
But mainly, Star would keep to himself further east of Memento, inside a small wood cabin he built with his own bare hands, right along the side of San Pedro. With the land being too fickle and brittle to farm, Star took up carpentry as his primary practice, offering his services to the people of Memento. Though his Black skin scared off a lot of potential business, the opportunity of a young, tall, and burly carpenter who’s ‘willing’ to work for half as much pay made people overlook their prejudices enough for Star to afford to live.   
On the bright side, Memento recently had the pleasure of a down-and-out wagon caravan passing through, more than willing to hire Star for his services. Being not-from-around-here, they paid him full price for the help, and then some. This left Star pretty comfortable, with enough money to afford his basic amenities and to allow a short sabbatical. All was going pretty okay for Star, if not for the rude interruption of gunfire.   
The gunshot rang throughout the plains of Arizona, being carried on the wind like a campfire song. Its volume pierced Star’s ears, a stark contrast to the gentle rushing of the river. Normally, Star wouldn’t pay it any mind, as you don’t typically want to go towards the sound of danger. This gunshot, however, felt remarkably close to his lodgings, and ignoring it seemed foolhardy. Hanging the last of his laundry to dry, Star went back inside his cabin, to grab his gun. 

Examining his room, Star took a moment to remember where he actually put his gun. He’d only ever used it a few times and only ever hit something when his daddy made him shoot glass bottles off the fence back home. The last time he ever fired it was when a coyote had broken into the chicken coop and tried to scurry off, chicken in mouth. His dad once again told him to shoot, but he hesitated. Did the coyote have to die? Was the coyote simply desperate and looked towards their ranch for salvation? In the midst of Star’s pondering of ethics, his dad filled the coyote with buckshot and proceeded to tan Star’s hide.   
After Star stopped crying, his dad kneeled next to him and sighed.   
“Once you get out into the big world Star, no one’s going to wonder whether or not it's ‘morally just’ to shoot you. Hell, most folks think it's their divine duty to hang folks like us.” He extended his arms outward for a hug, and Star obliged.  
“We named you Star ‘cus we wanted you to shoot for ‘em, me and your mother. To not let other folks restrict your potential to what they thinks best.” Still holding Star, his dad lifted him up off the ground.  
“I see now that was a mistake, my son, and I’m sorry.” As the Sun crested over the horizon, fading daylight pooling into their home, Star could see that same Sun glistening on his coyote bloodied shirt, and in his father’s tears.  
“Eventually, we won’t be able to care for you anymore and you’ll have to look out for yourself. Now you’ve got the kindness and spirit of the Heavenly bodies, but just remember to pull yourself back down to Earth when you need to okay?”  
Nodding along, Star wiped his eyes and swore to remember his father’s words, treating them like gospel. Now smiling, Star’s father put his son down in his bedroom, leaving him to sleep and to dream.

Finding his gun beneath the nightstand next to his bed, Star reached down and picked up his Colt 45. Loading the revolver, Star left his cabin and went for his horse.   
Unhitching his Morgan horse, aptly named “Morgan,” Star could tell she was antsy from the gunfire as well, and without consciously knowing, knew that’s where they were headed. Still, Star saddled up Morgan and gave her a sugar cube, a reward for her bravery.   
Starting at a slow trot, Star crossed the river and followed the smell of gunsmoke; though faint, it was strong enough for Morgan to pick up the scent. 

After some minutes, Star found a set of hoof prints with specks of blood wetting the dirt. Following these tracks, they eventually led Star back to a man. A man who was presumably a corpse.

Dismounting from Morgan, Star unsheathed his gun and clutched it steady in his left hand. While Star wasn’t worried about a dead man jumping up and attacking him, the killer could still be around. As he walked to examine the body, a trio of scavenger birds started swooping down, wanting to make a meal of this man. Running now, Star began waving his hands and yelling at them to get them to leave.   
“Hey! Scram!” Was all he said as the birds made disgruntled coos and squawks as they flew back into the air. “Damned vultures.”

Now with more haste, Star stood over the body, trying to see if it was worth it to scare them off. From the looks of it, the man looked rightly dead, as the sand beneath him looked as red as the plateaus up north. It didn’t seem very likely that the man was still alive, but Star figured he’d give him the courtesy of a chance.   
Taking a step back, Star reared his left foot and gave the body a swift kick, which the body immediately replied with some groans of pain and exhaustion muffled by the sand in his mouth. Star stopped for a moment, surprised the man was still breathing, and holstered his gun. Getting down onto one knee, Star started feeling on the man’s body to find the bullet’s point of entry.   
Star first tried to leave the man’s things alone but found the man’s leather coat too thick to find a bullet wound through. Moving him as little as necessary, Star began peeling off the man’s coat. Honestly, he was more surprised the man didn’t die of heatstroke, wearing something that big in this weather. Putting the coat to the side, Star didn't even need to look to find the wound, as the man’s cloth shirt quickly grew wet and red. Touching on the man’s stomach, he found that to be the source of the blood. Lifting the man slightly, Star felt his back to see if the bullet had already made its exit. Thankfully for him, it did.  
Just as Star gently put the man back on the ground and began redressing the man in his coat, Star heard the man say something weakly.  
“I love you.”  
Star wasn’t much for conversation, but he guesses dying men gotta profess their love somewhere.  
“...Okay.”  
Going back to the wound, Star figures the coat is what kept the man alive all this time, the weight of it applying sufficient pressure. Going back to his, Star unloaded his rope and began to tie it around the man’s wound, hoping it wouldn’t cause too much chafing. 

“Where is your horn, Gabriel?”  
Star didn’t even oblige the man with an answer this time, he simply grabbed the man’s waist and lifted him onto his shoulder.  
All the man said then was a groaning wheeze as all the wind was knocked out of him. Putting him on the back of his horse, Star got on the saddle and began riding back to Memento.

Crossing back over the river, the man’s dangling feet were submerged in water, causing him to jolt and grow stiff.   
“G-Gabriel where are you taking me?”  
Morgan began whinnying, irritated much like Star was, and started hopping on her front legs.   
Star rubbed her side, shushing her gently, and sighed at the man’s charade. He understood well enough that the man was talking from blood loss, but hoped he’d soon lose the energy for talking.   
“My name ain’t Gabriel, just relax now. I’m taking you to get patched up, just go to sleep partner.”  
Reminded of his physical form, the man’s body loosened and slouched onto Morgan’s back, falling unconscious.  
Morgan neighed in relief, which Star wholeheartedly understood, and agreed with. 

The doctor wasn’t thrilled to see Star bring in a man bleeding a trail into his office, but ultimately did stop the bleeding and prescribed some laudanum for the pain.   
Star began to thank him for saving the man’s life, but then saw the bill for services rendered.

Carrying the man into his cabin, Star laid the man in his bed and put the laudanum and bandages on his desk. Going outside to get some air, Star threw rocks into the flowing San Pedro. He didn’t have to get himself involved but knew his moral compass would never let him hear the end of it, not when a man lay dying so close to his home. But now that his good samaritan itch has been scratched, what would he do now? Take care of this stranger? For all he knows, this man could be anything, a killer for Pete’s sake. 

To ease his anxieties, Star went back inside his cabin and began searching through the man’s pockets and belongings. Whoever shot him most likely took all he had except the clothes off his back. But, going through the man’s satchel, he found a shattered framed picture and a pink blouse. Looking at the picture, Star didn’t see the man, only some parents and a pair of children, both daughters.  
“Huh.”  
Star didn’t entirely know what to make of that, primarily because he wasn’t looking to draw conclusions. Searching the man’s gun belt, the most valuable possession on his person was a Mauser, rusted to all hell.   
Star signed and sat on the edge of his desk, examining the man. A smaller framed Hispanic man who had rather soft features for someone who was shot and left for dead. His breathing, still shaky, caused the man’s chest to heave up and down. Then, things clicked into place. Star wondered why the Doctor forced him out of the operating room, “a matter of courtesy,” was all he said. 

Staring at the framed picture, Star heard the bed shift. Looking back, the man propped himself up was staring at Star, eyes not entirely focused in.   
“For your information, ‘Gabriel.’” With great effort, the man sat up. Star noted that he’d probably need to set the bandages again.   
“The name’s Ringo. Occupation? Beginner Outlaw, bad at it.”


End file.
